Are you Ready?
by darnedchild
Summary: It's been six months since the phone call. Molly and Sherlock have been taking things slow. Perhaps too slow. - I wrote this in a somewhat belated attempt to add some wank!lock to the Sherlolly/Loo tags on Tumblr, to help drown out the other kind of wank. It does what it says on the tin.


**Are You Ready?**

Six months.

Six months since that phone call.

Six months since she and Sherlock sat down and had a very long, very emotional conversation about their feelings for one another.

Six months since they decided to give being in a relationship a go.

It hadn't been easy, but Molly had never expected it to be.

He got distracted by cases and would forget they had agreed to spend the evening together, which would have been annoying but understandable (she was well familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the man she'd fallen in love with, after all) if he would only remember to call her when he wasn't going to show up. Molly had been left waiting at a restaurant or museum several times over the first four months of dating. He always made an effort to apologize when he realized what he'd done, and it only ever happened when the case was time sensitive or someone's life was at stake. Twice, she had gone to Barts as soon as John called to tell her they were there and offered her assistance at the lab. A missing child and a poisoned heiress were much more important than dinner at Angelo's. Eventually she'd learned to text Sherlock to make sure he wasn't on a case before she bothered to get ready for a date.

After all these years, it was still a little odd to think of herself as Sherlock's girlfriend—for want of a better word. Lover certainly didn't fit because it had been six months since their first "I love you" and they hadn't progressed past passionate kisses and desperate, over the clothing, above the waist fondling.

Molly knew they'd agreed to take things slowly. Sherlock hadn't had penetrative sex (she very carefully did not ask about Janine) since his experimental phase during uni, and neither of them wanted to risk overwhelming him with too many new sensations too quickly. He'd gone into buffering mode the first time she'd moaned into his mouth when he pinched her nipple through the cotton vest she liked to sleep in, and Molly had been worried it would happen every time she got a little vocal. Thankfully that wasn't the case; if anything, Sherlock rather seemed to enjoy it when Molly moaned and breathlessly gasped his name.

But it was so incredibly frustrating to have him suggest they needed to cool off just as things were getting hot and steamy. She was afraid she'd end up wearing out her vibrator at this rate.

Sherlock had invited her to Baker Street for the evening with the promise of curry take-away and an old black and white thriller on DVD. Molly wondered if she should have rung ahead since he wasn't expecting her for another hour; if they'd planned to go out, she definitely would have. One of the other doctors had wanted to use the lab and had offered to take the last of her shift since there was no point to both of them hanging around, and she'd been able to head home two hours early. It wasn't as if there weren't plenty of things to keep her busy at Baker Street if Sherlock were in the middle of something, heaven knew she'd done it before plenty of times. There were books to read, biscuits to eat (Thank you, Mrs Hudson!), experiments to help with, a handsome boyfriend with a propensity to strain his shirt buttons or wander around in only a bedsheet when he forgot she was coming over for breakfast and a day spent gathering soil samples from abandoned lots.

He wouldn't mind, she decided as she pulled the spare key he'd given her last month out of her pocket. ("Mrs Hudson is spending more and more time out with her latest beau and if I'm in the middle of something I can't be expected to run down to open the door every time you come around, can I?" Sherlock had huffed before he'd shoved it into her hand and tried to stalk off before she could see the faint traces of a blush beginning to stain his cheeks.)

The entryway was empty, which wasn't unexpected. Mrs Hudson had mentioned something about visiting her sister the last time Molly had stopped in for tea.

Molly was already looking forward to kicking off her flats and curling up on Sherlock's far-more-comfortable-than-it-looked sofa.

The door at the top of the stairs was almost shut, as if someone had pushed it closed and hadn't made sure it latched properly. Molly hesitated, straining to hear any voices that might indicate that Sherlock wasn't alone.

He had told her many times that she should feel free to let herself in to 221b, but she didn't like to interrupt when he and John were with a client. More than once she had gone down to visit with Mrs Hudson until they were done. Somehow Sherlock always seemed to know when she'd come by, and he always came looking for her.

At first there was nothing to hear. Then, as her hand touched the door and it began to swing open on well-oiled hinges, she heard someone groan her name.

She knew that groan. It was embedded in her memory, and almost always accompanied Sherlock pressing her back against whatever solid surface was at hand and kissing her until they were both breathless and desperate for more.

If he hadn't been so distracted, Sherlock would have surely noticed the opening door. Would have realized that he was no longer alone.

But he was very distracted.

He was stretched out on the sofa, completely nude. His head was thrown back against the arm closest to the door, his eyes tightly closed. His breathing was fast and harsh, peppered with soft whines and half formed pleas. His legs were splayed wide open, the toes of one foot braced against the floor. One of his hands was on his chest, his long fingers circling and pinching his nipple; the other was tightly wrapped around his fully erect cock.

Good God, he was gorgeous.

"Christ, Molly, suck me," Sherlock moaned as he slid his hand over the head of his cock and gathered the drops of pre-cum. "That's it, you know how I want it."

Molly stood there, frozen in place and more aroused than she had ever been in her entire life. She knew the appropriate thing to do would be to back up and give him his privacy, make a lot of noise on the stairs so that he could run to his bedroom or cover up. But she didn't. Couldn't.

Sherlock's hand moved faster. The one that had been teasing his nipple dropped between his legs to fondle his balls. She could tell by increasing tension in his thighs and the way his abdomen began to flex that he was getting close.

She fidgeted, pressing her legs closer together in a vain effort to find some relief for the growing ache between her legs. She may have even whimpered, although she tried to stifle the noise.

His hand—his entire body—stilled for a moment, and Molly was certain he had somehow heard her. She took a step back into the poor excuse for a shadow deeper in the hall outside the door.

Then he began to stroke his cock in earnest. "Going to fuck you, right here, Molly. Need you to ride me, make you come so hard you can't think. Then I'm going to—Jesus, getting close—gonna put you on your knees, make you scream my name while I fuck you from behind." His voice grew hoarse. "Want to mark you, let everyone know you're mine. Want to come inside you, Molly."

Hearing him say that, watching him get off while he thought of her . . .

Sherlock began to rock his hips into his hand. "Can't wait anymore."

If she didn't have an orgasm of her own soon, she thought she'd burst from sexual frustration.

"Molly!" His back arched off the sofa, and then he was coming. Thick spurts of semen painted his abdomen and hand.

She ducked out of sight, putting her back against a wall as she tried to catch her breath. If she were very lucky she might be able to wait until he went to his bedroom or the loo to clean up, and then she could run up the stairs to John's old room and masturbate. In her current state, it wouldn't take long. A few minutes at most.

Molly heard the springs in the sofa protest as Sherlock sat up. She held her breath, but he made no move to leave the sitting room.

After a long moment, she heard him speak. "You may as well come in, Molly. There's no point lurking in the hall."

Her eyes closed and her shoulders slumped. Of course he knew she was there. He always seemed to know.

With a deep breath, she edged around the door, guilt written all over her face.

Sherlock had cleaned himself up with a handful of tissues. He stood and took the few steps necessary to toss them into the bin under his desk. He was still utterly naked, although his cock was no longer erect (but no less impressive).

"You're early," he said as if they were discussing the weather and not the fact that she'd hidden in the hall and watched him wank.

"Daniels came in early." She was rather proud that she didn't stammer. She was blushing, but Molly thought that was to be expected in a situation such as this.

Sherlock nodded as if that was enough of an explanation for him.

"Are you going to put some clothes on?" It really was rather difficult to keep her eyes on his face, they kept insisting on drifting down.

"Yep." He put his hands on his hips and nodded again. "Feel free to sit down while I-" He gestured in the general direction of his room.

Molly started to move toward the sofa, then drew up short. Sherlock swallowed hard and quickly hurried into the kitchen. She considered taking John's old chair, but quickly changed her mind.

This was Sherlock's home, he obviously thought he'd shut the door, he clearly wasn't expecting her to show up early, and she didn't want him to think that there was anything wrong with him doing . . . what he'd been doing, where he'd been doing it. Heaven knew she'd given in to the urge to touch herself on her sofa more times than she could count, especially since she'd started dating him.

So she sat on the bloody sofa and tried not to imagine what it would feel like against her bare skin. Or how much support the cushions would give her knees as she bent over the arm, Sherlock holding on to her hips as he thrust into her.

"Fuck," Molly muttered.

"Ah, yes. That would be the elephant in the room." Sherlock reappeared wearing a hastily donned pair of lounge pants and a dressing gown, his chest and feet still bare, and his hair mussed. "I feel that I should apologize."

"Oh, no," Molly rushed to cut him off. "I should be the one. I barged in, well, not really barged in so much as lurked in the hall like some sort of-of pervy voyeur."

He shook his head. "I said I feel that I should apologize, not that I'm going to." He came around the small table in front of the sofa and cautiously sat beside her. Molly watched him come closer, eyes wide and her lower lip between her teeth. "I knew you were there. Not at first, but before I . . . finished. When I was describing what I wanted to do with you—to you—right here, I was fully aware that you could hear me."

Sherlock drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "I wanted you to hear me. I've, uh, been trying to find a way to tell you that I want to-to progress our relationship."

She tilted her head in confusion, and then Molly figured it out. "You want to have sex."

"God, yes." He slouched back against the sofa in relief. "It's been getting harder to keep myself in check when we're together. No pun intended."

Molly didn't bother hiding her grin. "You said you wanted me to hear, did you leave the door unlatched on purpose?"

"No!" He shook his head in denial, and Molly believed him. "I shut it before I got involved in, well, you know. I didn't realize it hadn't closed completely. I was in a bit of a hurry."

"To have a wank?" Molly couldn't help but ask. For someone who was usually extremely blunt, he tended to be adorably awkward when it came to discussing their sex life. Or, at least, he was normally; he'd been rather explicit earlier, and Molly found she quite liked it. She'd always loved his voice, and hearing him say deliciously naughty things was definitely something she'd like to experience again.

Sooner rather than later, if she had her way.

"Do you do that often? Before we spend an evening together, I mean?"

"Not every time." Sherlock flushed and guiltily stared at the pile of old magazines stacked against the wall. "Just most of the time. I've found that I'm less likely to-to . . ."

Molly leaned against his shoulder and reached for his hand. "Be tempted to move too fast?"

He tilted his head so he could press his lips against her hair. "I'm always tempted with you, Molly. Lately, it's all I can think about as soon as my mind settles from a case. Laying you down on your horrid floral sofa, stripping you bare, and licking every bit of your skin I find. Bending you over one of the tables in the lab and taking you hard and fast until you scream my name loud enough for the entire floor to hear. Sex in the shower when we've just woken up. Sex in your tub, it's so much bigger than mine, more room. Your bed. My bed. I'd prefer mine over yours simply because I have the better mattress and my sheets are much softer, but I honestly won't care as long as you're there with me."

Sherlock freed his hand and leaned away from her so he could tilt her chin upward and look into her eyes. "I've told you what I want. Now it's your turn. Are you ready? Because I can wait a bit longer if you're not. It will mean more cold showers and making sure the damn door is truly locked when I deal with all that pent-up frustration. But I'll do it, if that's what you want."

"We should get that take-away now." Molly hopped up from the sofa.

"Now? You want to eat now?"

She took pity on him and sat back down, this time settling across his lap. His arms automatically came up to hold her. "We're going to need our strength if we're going to properly break in your sofa tonight." Her hand slipped down between them and settled over his groin. "Besides, I imaging you're going to need a bit of recovery time. Won't you?"

Surprisingly, she felt his cock begin to grow slightly firmer under her hand. Sherlock grinned and leaned closer to kiss her, hard.

"You've made a fair point. Food now, dessert later."


End file.
